But He's a God
by messed up stargazer
Summary: Before the revolution, Grantaire once witnessed Enjolras not being a god. Enjolras is sick but leaves it untreated as best as he can, deciding mind over matter. Unfortunately, that doesn't work out very well. Sorry for the bad summary. My first fic as a Mizzie. I used Aaron Tveit as Enjolras and George Blagden as Grantaire. Could be seen as E/R pre-slash if you squint.


When Enjolras woke, he wished he didn't. He had gone to sleep the last night not feeling well and sleep hadn't helped him much. If anything, his headache was worse, his body was aching more, he was absolutely freezing, his throat was scratchy and swallowing was unpleasant, and his stomach felt like rebelling against him and expelling last night's meager dinner of, actually he hadn't eaten dinner last night. He dismissed food often. He had too muh to do. Which is why he forced himself out of his nice warm bed and into the cold unforgiving world. He stumbled slightly but he managed to regain his footing and started to dress, albeit slowly as he still wanted to crawl back into bed and just die until this feeling had passed.

However, he had an obligation to do. There was no meeting today, there had been one yesterday, but he'd promised Courfeyracthat he would watch over Grantaire, as the man would drink until dead if possible, and he needed to finish writing the speech for the next demonstration, which was only in two weekends. Enjolras liked being prepared and this way he could also focus on his studies. His teachers were unforgiving on the revolutionary and his schedule at school was filled with many hard classes with much homework. Once he was dressed in plain black trousers with a pair of black stockings underneath so he wouldn't freeze, navy shirt his favorite red jacket and had enough money to make sure Grantaire wouldn't get into trouble, he raided his cabinets to try and make some tea but once he got out some honey, his stomach forcefully said he wasn't going to eat or drink anything at all. Knowing Grantaire would already be there, Enjolras staggered over to the Musain. He wondered if he looked as drunk as Grantaire was sure to be. As much as he hated the wine Grantaire drunk, he found himself almost enjoying himself on his way to see his friend. Grantaire was loyal as a dog and Enjolras loved that about him.

Although the sun was shining high in the sky, he wrapped his jacket tighter around him. He was freezing but hypothermia would have to wait. He had things to do. When the sound of the tavern filled his ears and caused his head to throb painfully, he saw Grantaire already into his bottle.

"Enjolras!" Grantaire shouted, causing Enjolras to wince. "You don't look so good."

"It's the wine." Enjolras promised with a voice so weak he doubted it was his own voice.

"Apollo-" Grantaire started but Enjolras shrugged him off, trying to quell his aching self.

"Let me work, Grantaire. Please don't die." Enjolras basically fell into the chair Grantaire had pulled out for. He pulled some paper out of his bag and grabbed his pen.

"Maybe I should ask the same of you." Grantaire whispered so low Enjolras wasn't sure he heard it at all.

"Apollo, maybe you ought to go home." Grantaire said softly. Uncertainty was in his voice, something not often found in the cynic.

"Just let me write." Enjolras pleaded and Grantaire went silent but didn't move. He just stared at Enjolras, not even touching the wine in his hand.

Enjolras tried to focus on what he'd written last night, and not on the bottle that was sure to find its way back to Grantaire's lips. It took him five minutes to realize he couldn't read what he'd written, the letters too jumbled and starting to move across the page. He kept blinking slower and harder but nothing was working. Deciding it was just the atmosphere, and he just needed to get away, no matter his obligation to Grantaire, Enjolras stood. The world started spinning and he swayed on his feet.

"Apollo? Are you all right?" Grantaire asked, sounding slightly frightened.

Enjolras turned to look at Grantaire to reassure him he was fine but he lost his balance and, if it weren't for Grantaire catching him he would've fallen. He barely heard the wine bottle clatter to the floor, surprisingly still in one piece. He met Grantaire's eyes to try and smile and laugh it off but then his eyes rolled up into his head and tumbled headfirst into unconsciousness.

* * *

"Apollo?" Grantaire lightly shook the senseless revolutionary.

He got no response.

"Enjolras?" Grantaire squeaked out.

Still nothing.

This was impossible. Enjolras was a God; he couldn't just pass out, without any alcohol even. But then Grantaire took a better look at his Apollo. He was pale, his body trembling, and he was glistening with sweat. Since he had no hand to use, Grantaire looked around and saw no one was paying them any attention, and pressed his lips to Enjolras's forehead. He was burning up with fever. Sliding one hand down to Enjolras's knees and maneuvering the other to place Enjolras's head on his shoulder, he lifted Enjolras easily. He was too light, in Grantaire opinion. Not that that meant anything to Enjolras. Grantaire often wondered why Enjolras kept him around. But that was a worry for another day. He raced back to his apartment as fast as he could without dropping Enjolras; he thanked whatever God was up there that he hadn't drunken that much wine before Enjolras showed up. Once home, he glanced down at the god he worshipped with all his heart. His breath was short and fast, and his eyes were darting around under his eyelids. Grantaire wrangled Enjolras into bed, which he was sure wouldn't be that hard but found it quite a task, and searched his room for cloth and water. Finding the cloth easy, he just grabbed one of the many handkerchiefs his 'lady friends' had left from their nights here, and the water was harder but he found a bucket full of it that he'd forgotten from when it rained and there was a hole in his roof. Finding the water adequately cold as he barely ever used his stove to heat his apartment because he often found himself sleeping on the floor of the Musain, he carried it to where Enjolras was still out cold. He had taken to shivering underneath Grantaire's blankets. He dipped the cloth in the water and gently placed the water over Enjolras's brow. The student whimpered slightly at the change in temperature but did not wake. Grantaire sighed. He studied philosophy not medicine. He needed help. But how was he to get it? He didn't know where Joly lived and Combeferre asked not to be found today. Wait. There was one who could always find anyone, even if they didn't want to be found. Gavroche. He'd be willing to help his leader.

"Enjolras, if you can hear me, please try to wake up. I shall not be gone long. You asked me not to die. I'm afraid I must ask you the same now." Grantaire knelt at his leader's side, in a position that reflected a man in prayer. That seemed like what he was doing. He just prayed his Apollo could hear him. He kissed Enjolras's knuckles lightly before heading out the door.

He found Gavroche trying to pickpocket an older gentleman with glasses and a large fur coat, symbolizing his status as a rich man. He grabbed Gavroche's free hand and pulled him away.

"Now, what you go and that for, huh?" Gavroche asked indignantly.

"'Roche, Enjolras is sick. I don't know what's wrong with him. Can you find Combeferre or Joly?" Grantaire asked frantically.

Gavroche's eyes widened at the sound of his leader and friend out of commission and nodded quickly.

"Do you remember my apartment?" Grantaire asked.

Gavroche nodded once more.

"That is where we are. Find either or both, and bring them there. Understand?" Grantaire ordered.

Gavroche nodded for a third time before running off into the streets of Paris. Grantaire ran back up to his apartment and resumed his place by Enjolras's side. The water dripped down his face, cooling the young revolutionary's to a certain degree, and Grantaire rewet the cloth before gently dabbing at Enjolras's forehead. Enjolras moaned as if coming awake.

"Enjolras?" Grantaire asked quietly, working his fingers into Enjolras's limp hand.

Enjolras gave no answer but he managed to squeeze Grantaire's hand as tightly as they could, which unfortunately wasn't very much. This worried Grantaire. Enjolras was strong, able to lift Grantaire when the cynic had drunk until unconsciousness. For Enjolras to be losing strength- no. Gavroche would find Joly or Combeferre and Enjolras would win this battle. That was the end of the discussion. Grantaire dabbed the water again and this caused Enjolras's eyes to flutter open, the blue orbs that held such a passionate fire of unmatchable proportions were now dull and glazed over with fever. If Enjolras was awake, his mind wasn't.

"Enjolras?" Grantaire whispered.

"Cold." Grantaire had to strain his ears not only to hear Enjolras but to decipher what he'd said through the chattering teeth.

Grantaire searched high and low but only found the spare blanket he used in winter. Damn him for not being ready. Enjolras would have been ready for this. He's always ready for everything. He wrapped the now shivering Enjolras in his second blanket and sat down beside him. Enjolras curled in closer to Grantaire, his shivers jolting both boys. Grantaire started carding his fingers through Enjolras's hair. He often found Enjolras doing this when he thought the drunkard senseless. Enjolras's lips quirked upwards so Grantaire thought be must be doing something right. Enjolras's eyes fell shut but he seemed to still be awake. After his hand was well and truly damp with Enjolras's sweat, he thought Enjolras should have a drink. Not wine but water. Grabbing an empty mug that was lying around, he filled it with the rain water, which was the cleanest water around.

"Enjolras, you must drink something." Grantaire coaxed.

Enjolras gave the tiniest hum in response. Grantaire used one arm to raise the revolutionary up to his chest and the other to bring the cup to Enjolras's lips. Using Grantaire as support Enjolras managed to sip a few times before his stomach tightened in pain. Grantaire set the cup down and embraced his shaking leader. It wasn't until Grantaire's jacket started becoming wet that he realized the shakes were originating from sobs.

"Hush, Apollo, it's all right. You're going to be fine. Just you watch, Apollo. I sent Gavroche to find Joly or Combeferre and they'll come and make you better. You'll be up and running the revolution in no time." Grantaire soothed as best he could, using Enjolras's nickname to give him the illusion that Grantaire wasn't worried.

But Enjolras's sobs did not stop.

"I'm not ready for that. You think me a God. I can't even be called a man." Enjolras cried, his voice worse than before.

"Apollo." Grantaire said, surprised.

"I'm scared I'll lead you to your death. You worship a coward." Enjolras started crying harder. Grantaire clutched Enjolras's hand tightly.

"This is the fever, Apollo. Nothing more. You have nothing to fear. The revolution will come, the people will rise, and we will live to see our freedom." Grantaire assured.

Enjolras said nothing but sobs quieted down.

"Try to sleep, Enjolras. You need rest." Grantaire started to stroke Enjolras's hair, trying to give some comfort to the ailing man.

Enjolras rested his head against Grantaire's chest and unconsciously nuzzled into Grantaire's neck for warmth. When Enjolras's hand went slack in his, panic flashed across his body before he realized the man was just asleep. _Wow, I can't believe he did what I asked him to. I'll have to ask later if it was just the fever, _Grantaire thought.

Just then, a knock came to his door.

"Who is it?" He hissed as loud as he could without waking Enjolras.

"Me." Gavroche called huffily.

"It's open. Be quiet." Grantaire said in a slightly lower than normal voice.

Enjolras shifted in his sleep, his marble brow going deeper into Grantaire's neck. Combeferre opened the door quickly, Gavroche stayed behind him. He seemed almost afraid to see his leader reduced to a shaking, sweating wreck. Combeferre went straight into the room, not tripping over anything (which was a miracle all in itself) and beckoned Gavroche into the room. Gavroche was carrying a rather large medical bag, probably telling Combeferre to run as quick as possible and he'd grab the bag.

"'Roche, if I'm to help him, I need my supplies. There's no need to be afraid of him." Combeferre persuaded.

Grantaire knew that Gavroche was not afraid of Enjolras, rather _for_ him, and gently nodded his head. Gavroche came inside, much slower than usual as his eyes would not leave the sleeping man on Grantaire's chest and handed the bag to Combeferre.

"Has he been coughing?" Combeferre asked, taking out a notepad and starting to diagnose Enjolras.

"No. He's just been shivering and he only barely managed to keep some water down earlier." Grantaire relayed.

"That rules out a lot of things. That's a good thing." Combeferre said absentmindedly, slipping a thermometer underneath Enjolras's tongue. The fact that Enjolras didn't stir worried Grantaire.

"38 degrees." Combeferre jotted down his findings and studied Enjolras for a quick minute before sighing. "Lay him back down. Can you?"

Grantaire nodded and carefully extracted Enjolras from his neck before gently laying the still sleeping man on the bed. Enjolras moaned slightly, his hand trying to pull him back up. He missed Grantaire's warmth.

"Hush, Apollo. It's all right. I'll be right back." Grantaire promised.

Combeferre untangled Enjolras from the blankets, causing the revolutionary to grimace and shiver much more violently.

"'Roche, you remember Joly? Where he lives?" Grantaire asked.

Gavroche nodded, eager to leave the frightening sight that was Enjolras.

"Go there. He has at least twenty blankets. Get as many as you can carry and then come back. Quickly, go." Grantaire ordered and the street urchin ran as fast as he could.

"Poor boy is terrified. Enjolras's heart would stop at such a sight." Grantaire noticed, then turned back to Combeferre, who was unbuttoning Enjolras's sweat soaked jacket and shirt.

"Is this the moment?" Grantaire accused.

"Grantaire, though you may sleep there, get your mind out of the gutter," Combeferre rolled his eyes at Grantaire, "I am checking him for wounds that could be infected. Otherwise, this might be the worst case of fever I've ever seen."

"You can treat both, right?" Grantaire asked.

"He must fight as well." Combeferre recited.

"That's easy." Grantaire dismissed before shouting, "Apollo! Fight this so you can fight the revolution. We can't win without you."

Combeferre cocked his eyebrow at Grantaire in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"I gave him a reason to fight. He _had_ to hear that." Grantaire explained.

Combeferre chuckled before ghosting his fingers over Enjolras's torso. "I don't feel anything. I can finish when he wakes."

Grantaire nodded and rebuttoned Enjolras's shirt and jacket.

"Grantaire, look at me." Combeferre asked, sounding worried.

Grantaire did.

"Your eyes are red and you're sweating. You may have caught what Enjolras has." Combeferre noticed.

"Oh. It's not that. I just need a drink. But that can wait." Grantaire dismissed.

"You _haven't_ been drinking?" Combeferre nearly shouted.

"Hush. You'll wake him." Grantaire hissed and looked over at Enjolras, who was still asleep thankfully. "Of course not. Drinking will do nothing to help him."

"I don't believe it. Enjolras won't believe it when he wakes." Combeferre laughed a little.

"He should. It's the truth." Grantaire huffed.

Combeferre laughed a little more. "You truly worship him."

"I worship nothing." _Except my Apollo_, Grantaire thought fondly.

"Hand me that damp cloth." Combeferre rewet the cloth and wiped the sweat from Enjolras's face. "You had the right idea. You just have to go further."

Combeferre mopped Enjolras's face and neck before slipping underneath his shirt. Enjolras fussed which caused Combeferre to pull back.

"What is it?" Grantaire asked.

"He should be, for lack of a better word, enjoying this." Combeferre bit his cheek nervously.

"Should we take him to the hospital?" Grantaire asked.

"We can do it here. You know how he hates taking hospital services away from the poor. You have a bathtub right?" Combeferre asked, undressing Enjolras once more.

"Yes?" Grantaire said hesitantly.

"Fill it with cold water. As cold as you can get." Combeferre ordered.

Grantaire nodded. "There's a well down the street. It's always cold."

"Go. Quickly." Grantaire raced out the door.

He didn't stop even when he nearly missed the bucket he was to use, when he reached the well, or even once he'd filled the bucket the first time. It took him nearly ten minutes before the bathtub was filled with ice cold water, even though it was hot for the Parisians and more often than not the water was as well. Combeferre had stripped Enjolras to his black stockings, causing the revolutionary to mimic a seizure.

"It's ready." Grantaire communicated.

"Help me carry him." Combeferre ordered and Grantaire grabbed Enjolras's torso as Combeferre took his feet. Together, they carried the man into the bathroom.

"He will struggle, he will fight. I doubt he will recognize either of us. But if we don't get his temperature down, he will have no mind left to recognize us with." Combeferre relayed truthfully.

Grantaire nodded and on Combeferre's count, they submerged Enjolras into the water. Enjolras's eyes flew open, and as Combeferre promised, he fought as hard as he could. Once more at Combeferre's count, they lifted the still thrashing man out of the water and carried him back into the bedroom. Enjolras's eyes were still closed and he still shocked. Grantaire got one of his towels out and started drying Enjolras off. Enjolras still lashed out slightly and Grantaire started whispering to Enjolras, to try and calm the feverish man down, stroking his face gently.

"Hush, Apollo, it's all right. You're fine, everything's fine. Think hot, Apollo. You are the sun after all. You drive a chariot of unbelievable heat, Apollo. The sun reflected in your curls is enough to give light to Paris. Hush, Apollo. Don't you fret. Everything will be all right in the end."

Surprisingly, Enjolras quieted down.

"I take it I didn't hear any of that." Combeferre smirked.

"Up to Enjolras. I don't care." Grantaire shrugged.

Then Gavroche came bursting in with five blankets in his tiny arms, two dragging behind him.

"Good timing Gavroche. Bring them here." Combeferre beckoned the urchin in, he and Grantaire helped the boy drape blanket after blanket on the sleeping Apollo. After he was sufficiently buried, Combeferre slipped the thermometer underneath Enjolras's tongue.

"38 again. It worked." Combeferre breathed a sigh of relief.

"What worked?" Gavroche asked.

Combeferre and Grantaire both silently agreed he didn't have to know. "Nothing, 'Roche."

Gavroche knew better than to ask.

* * *

Eight days later found Enjolras waking up unimpaired by fever. He was still cold, as the fever had not broken yet, but the sight in front of him was much colder. Grantaire was asleep beside him in bed, fully clothed, shaking like a leaf, with sweat pouring down his forehead.

"Grantaire." Enjolras choked out, his voice hoarse from disuse.

Grantaire came awake with a strangled gasp. He panted, his entire body trembling. "You're awake." Grantaire's voice was also shot, just less so.

"What happened?" Enjolras croaked.

"You got sick, still sick actually Combeferre told me not to let you up. He's out getting you more water from the well." Grantaire sat up slowly, rubbing a trembling hand over his face.

"What happened to you?" Enjolras pressed.

"You've been in and out of awareness for eight days. I didn't want to miss you because I was drunk." Grantaire admitted.

Enjolras was touched, beyond touched. Grantaire chose him over the bottle. For eight days, no less. _Withdrawal_, Enjolras thought,_ that's why he looks so terrible_. Enjolras tried to push himself up, but his arms were made of a heavy metal and he had no strength so Grantaire easily kept him down.

"Keep still. Your fever hasn't broken yet. You may be Apollo but even gods must rest." Grantaire soothed softly.

Enjolras nodded weakly. He _was_ exceedingly tired.

"Do you remember much of your time here?" Grantaire asked, causing Enjolras to raise his head slightly.

He then realized he wasn't at his apartment, but Grantaire's. But he couldn't answer the question. He had little memory of the past eight days and the only thing that was really clear was... Grantaire's voice. Forever constant, always soothing. He wasn't sure of what was real, the words blurred together sometimes but he remembered Grantaire telling him everything was going to be all right, to not be afraid. He wasn't sure if any of it was real. He couldn't let himself be wrong. He'd rather not know than have his heart clench in pain at it not being real.

"I'm not sure." Enjolras excused lamely.

Grantaire set his jaw and locked eyes with Enjolras.

"Then I shall tell you again. You have nothing to fear. Of anything, Enjolras. I will follow you into the depths of Hell and back. We all will. Am I understood?" Grantaire's eyes bore into Enjolras's with unwavering assertion.

Unable to speak, Enjolras nodded.

"Good. You need anything?" Grantaire's entire demeanor changed, to the one which he often saw.

Enjolras shrugged.

"Of course you don't know. I'll get you some broth. 'Ferre brought it around yesterday." Grantaire stood on shaky legs and unsteadily brought some broth in. It wasn't hot but Grantaire's quivering hand was able to do what Enjolras's lead arms could not and he found it to be quite delicious. He hadn't eaten in eight days so he assumed most things would be.

As he finished the bowl, Combeferre came in with a good sized bucket filled almost to the brim.

"Oh, you're awake. And eating, wonderful. You'll beat this yet. Here, have a nice long drink of water." Combeferre held out a large glass, which seemed to be lying around with many others, now filled with water.

Grantaire took it and put the glass to Enjolras's lips. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until the water was running down his throat, quenching his thirst in long, cool waves. Combeferre blinked once, twice, thrice before shrugging and sitting down next to Enjolras. He looked exhausted. He must have been because it was barely a minute before the man fell into a deep, snoring sleep.

"Have you two been skipping sleep?" Enjolras questioned.

"Skipping, not exactly. But he hasn't exactly welcomed it." Grantaire said.

"And you?" Enjolras asked.

"I don't think you want to know." Grantaire hung his head.

"I think I do." Enjolras challenged.

"All right. An hour here, five minutes there. It's nothing." Grantaire's dismissed.

"Nothing? Grantaire, you will make yourself sick." Enjolras cried.

"Like you did?" Grantaire accused. "Combeferre said you wouldn't have been sick if you actually ate something this past week. Not _this_ week, obviously but the week before. You must take better care of yourself, Apollo."

"If I swear to eat more, will you get some rest?" Enjolras stifled a yawn.

"Yes on one condition." Grantaire nodded.

Thinking it would be buying him alcohol or something similar, he nodded.

"You rest too. You've had a much harder eight days and the fever still hasn't quite broken." Grantaire conditioned.

Slightly taken aback, Enjolras nodded again. Grantaire gave a tired smile and confusedly looked around. Combeferre was occupying the only chair Grantaire had at his flat and the only other place to sleep was on the floor, which wasn't appealing at all. He didn't deem himself worthy of sleeping next to Apollo, that much was clear.

"_Permettez-vous_?" Grantaire whispered.

In response, Enjolras just convinced his right arm to work, he'd convinced stronger willed things to bend to his own, and gave the hardest yank he could muster. Grantaire pulled forward so Enjolras considered the attempt successful. Unusually silent, Grantaire laid beside him. Now satisfied, Enjolras closed his eyes and sleep was almost instantaneous.

Except, Enjolras had the strange memory of Grantaire saying, "Sleep well, Apollo. I will not let Heaven take you just yet."

* * *

Months and a failed bloody revolution later found Grantaire and Enjolras standing by each other's side staring death in the face.

"Will you let Heaven take me now, my friend?" Enjolras's mouth was moving without his consent. He had never spoken of that memory, or dream he still wasn't sure, especially not to Grantaire. But his mouth decided to take the risk for him.

But Grantaire just smiled at him and said, "If you permit it."

Enjolras gave Grantaire a chaste kiss on the cheek and took his hand in Enjolras's own. Enjolras raised the red flag in his hand and closed his eyes. Neither man felt the bullets pierce their flesh. Grantaire was already pushing open the gates of Heaven to lead his god to his friends where they would spend an eternity of happiness and love.


End file.
